


A Stark and Lonely Night

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: fullmoon_ficlet, Episode: s05e10 Status Asthmaticus, Gen, Possibly Pre-Slash, Snapchat, Stiles & Jackson Bond, post-season/series 05 mid-season finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 09:06:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4740689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Donovan, Stiles needs someone better to talk to than Theo Raeken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Stark and Lonely Night

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for prompt #135 - Stark at Fullmoon_Ficlet. I started out writing something about Stark Industries but that’s been consigned to the Bunny Hutch, and I spewed this out instead. As a disclaimer, I do not use Snapchat and this is entirely based on watching my daughter’s use of it. And yes, it is yet another Stiles and Jackson bond over the things they’ve done fic, because after Donovan, I think Stiles needs it even more than before. As always, I do not own the world nor characters of Teen Wolf, I just like to play with them.

Jackson doesn’t check Snapchat until he’s eating breakfast. He’s surprised to see a message waiting, and he figures it’s Danny, except when he opens it up, he sees Stilinski’s face instead.

Stilinski is lying in bed, the camera obviously held high overhead. His eyes are heavy-lidded, his chest bare while he wears Star Wars sleep pants. The caption reads. “Finally able to sleep. Goodnight, Buttercup.”

 _The fuck_?

The image disappears while he’s staring at it, and for a moment Jackson regrets that he didn’t take a screenshot to save it for posterity. Or evidence of his apparent insanity. Or maybe it’s Stilinski that’s insane, because they haven’t talked in over a year, so what’s up with the bedtime images?

It takes until he’s out for the day, slumped in a chair in the movie theater and trying to ignore the heavy scent of arousal from Gemma and James while they avoid making him feel like too much of a third wheel. _Screenshots_. Because maybe that wasn’t the first time. Maybe that wasn’t a mistake, or an oddity.

It doesn’t make _sense_ , but Jackson has to know. So he pulls his phone out and ignores the way Gemma elbows his ribs sharply with a whisper of _not in the theater, idiot_. He dims the screen, werewolf eyes unbothered by the lack of light, and switches to his photo album. The first image he sees is Stiles laughing, head thrown back, the moles dark against his pale skin in the awkward dim light of his bedroom. He’s straddling a desk chair, one arm across the back. There’s no caption, no words to give Jackson insight into the reason behind the image, but he can’t remember a time when he and Stilinski laughed together.

 _Ever_.

He nudges Gemma and whispers that he’s heading to the loo, then pockets his phone and inches out of the packed row. He passes the loo, heads straight out of the theater and ends up in a side alley, the noises of London all around him. He leans back agains the wall and scrolls back through his photos until he finds the first one of Stilinski.

 _I have blood on my hands, too_.

The words leap out at him before the image, the way Stiles has one hand curled in front of his mouth as if he can keep the words at bay. There are shadows in his eyes, deep grooves around them as if he hasn’t slept well in days. There’s a scruff on his chin, a pale and sallow cast to his skin. It worries Jackson to see him like this, and he checks the timestamp on the image to see how long it’s been between then and now.

Three days.

Stiles was still pale in the image this morning—or late last night for him—but he looked healthy. Relaxed, like he had slept and eaten, much better than he had been.

The next one looks to be almost immediately after the first, Stiles’s eyes cast down, not even looking at the camera, hand over his eyes. _Not the Nogitsune. My own hands. I killed a man._

The story spins out over three nights worth of images, all timestamped during moments when Jackson swears he was sleeping.

He’s been sleep-Snapchatting with Stiles Stilinski.

It’s like fucking sleepwalking with a dork. And he has no idea what he said, because he had to have sent _something_ , or Stiles wouldn’t have spilled his guts. Wouldn’t have kept talking.

Wouldn’t have ended up laughing. Sleeping.

Jackson raises his phone and tilts his head, snaps the photo and captions it _Broad daylight. Funny what I do in my sleep these days_. He sends it to Stiles before he can think twice, and immediately regrets it after.

Maybe it would have been better if he’d just kept doing whatever the fuck he was doing. He hasn’t noticed missing sleep; he’s felt better the last few days and hasn’t had a nightmare. And it obviously helped Stiles.

 _You just wanted a better look at all this_. Stiles is barely awake, his hair tousled, skin creased from the pillow. He’s lying in bed, face down, the sheets low across his body, and it’s easy to imagine that he drops the phone and faceplants immediately after sending the image.

It’s a much better look at Stiles, and Jackson instinctively catalogs the differences the last year and more have wrought, the way he’s thinned out, lost the soft edges of teenage life and turned into a young man. He pins a thoughtful expression on his face and sends the image with _Not bad, Stilinski_.

The response comes immediately with a picture of Stiles on his back, one arm thrown above his head, a lazy smile tilting his lips. _Are you that lonely, Whittemore? Stark truths_.

Jackson feels something in his chest loosen, breath coming more easily. The next photo he sends is of a smile, the most honest one he’s felt in a while. _Not lonely. Not now_.

He locks his phone and shoves it in his pocket before Stilinski responds. That’s enough stark truth for now; they can continue the conversation later. Make sure it’s not another lonely night.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


End file.
